


Golden Hour

by littlelotte



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, mentions of darius, mentions of other travelers, two bros chilling in an existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelotte/pseuds/littlelotte
Summary: Golden hour; noun: the period of daytime shortly after sunrise, or before sunset when the colors in the sky are warmer and softer.Or: the first hour after traumatic injury, considered crucial during emergency treatment.The sun's starting to set and Therion can't help but wonder: how is he better than before?





	Golden Hour

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a birthday gift for Tuna! She's a wonderful person and artist! Happy birthday Tuna!!! ♡

There’s something strange about the final hours of daylight, Therion thinks, head pressed against the pillow as the sun dips below the trees. In a way, it’s comforting. Light filters through the window, a brilliant gold color mixed with reds and pinks; it heats up his face and—according to Alfyn—dances off his hair and makes him resemble a painting. A _painting._ Alfyn thinks he looks like a painting.

“I really don’t get you,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. He’s alone in the room— _t_ _heir_ room. He has to get used to calling it that, because that’s ostensibly what is its: theirs. It’s got the markings of both of them, Therion’s scarf and poncho hanging on a coat hook by the door, Alfyn’s piles of medical encyclopedias stacked in the corner. On the desk, there’s the red, feathered bard’s cap Therion had to wear in one of his play performances, and beside it there’s the dopey stuffed bear Ophilia had painstakingly sewn for Alfyn during the holidays. Rows of half-full salve bottles line the top of the bookshelf, and inside it, more encyclopedias (including a few “educational presents” from Cyrus neither of them have the shared brain cells to comprehend).

Somewhere in one of the drawers, there’s the dancer’s garb Prim had made for him during their travels. Beside it, there’s the warrior’s garments Olberic gave Alfyn during their training. They were gifts from good friends, Alfyn had said, and they should be treated with care.

In every way, shape, and form, this room is shared. Originally Alfyn’s alone, it became Therion’s as well. It’s theirs, be all end all.

So why does laying here by himself feel...wrong?

In a way, the warm hues of sunsets can be haunting. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. When the sun sets, night falls, and all at once it’s cold. Fucking _freezing_ , actually. It’s freezing and the night creatures come out, human or otherwise, waiting to prey on those unfortunate enough to be alone.

Every once in a while, when he’s alone and he lets himself think for too long, the questions he thought he’d answered grip him by the jaw and hold him still. _Do you really think you deserve this?_ I’m doing better, he says. _Don’t you think that man deserves better than you? Don’t you think there’s others out there capable of treating him better than you do?_ I’m trying. I’m trying to be better I — _What makes you say that? Do you have proof?_ I— _Are you really all that much better than you were before? Are you really all that much better than you were with me?_

Sometimes, when he’s alone, scaly, callused hands run up the back of his neck and squeeze hard enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen with panic.

You’re supposed to be dead.

_You’re supposed to be over it._

Leave me alone.

_We both know I have no control over that._

You’re not real.

_I’m not real._

Get the fuck out of my room.

_Your room?_

Get out.

_I can’t go anywhere._

Get out.

_You have to be the one to make it stop._

Get out, Darius.

_Do you really think you deserve him?_

I said get the fuck out—

“—Therion?”

Therion’s body jerks, eyes fluttering open at the sound of his name. There’s a hand on his forearm, gently rubbing the skin there. He looks up, bleary-eyed, to see a concerned-half-to-tears Alfyn Greengrass with messy hair and messier clothes.

“Y’alright bud? I found ya sleeping, I think, but you looked kinda like you were having a nightmare, muttering to yourself and all...I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you out with that…”

Therion blinks. He fell asleep? When did he fall asleep? “Oh. I...must’ve,” he makes a vague hand gesture, “thought about cats falling from bridges again.”

Alfyn raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound like cat’s you were muttering about…”

“Yeah, well, it was cats. I like cats, what do you want from me.” He rubs his eyes and sits up, giving Alfyn a once over. To say he looked worse for wear would be an understatement. His hair is falling out of its ponytail, there’s sweat stains near his armpits, his tunic is covered in what looks like blood and...some other substance. Therion fights the urge to wince as he reaches out and touches the apothecary’s chest, right where a large blotch is.

Then, in true Therion fashion: “...You look like hell. What happened?”

Alfyn grabs Therion's hand and pushes it away, then shrugs off his tunic. “I wouldn't, uh, touch those if I were you. They’re, um, I don’t think you wanna know.” He goes quiet then, shrugging off the rest of his clothes and reaching into the dresser for a clean pair of pants and a fresh shirt. His movements are slowed, like he's stalling for something, or like he's confused as to where he is. 

It’s Therion's turn to raise an eyebrow; anxiety settles in his gut like lead. “I thought this was just a routine orphanage visit. Sick kids, but nothing too major. So what happened? You don’t look good, Al.”

There’s a pause; Alfyn stares back at him with this faraway look in his eyes. He looks confused, lost even, like he’s drowning and he can’t figure out which way is up.

It’s a look Therion knows all too well.

“It...it was a...routine visit, yeah. And I know what you’re thinking—nobody attacked the orphanage or nothin’, it was just…” Alfyn bites his lower lip and chews for a second, breaking eye contact. When he speaks again, his voice is lower than before: “it...it didn’t go so well, this time, Therion. It didn’t... _I_ didn’t...I wasn’t able to help. I wasn’t able to help some of the…the kids I wasn’t…” He breaks off and looks down at his hands, then clenches his fists. He takes in a sharp, unsteady breath and unclenches, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. The sight of it—the sight of him like this—feels like a blow to the chest hard enough to knock Therion off his feet.

“H-Hey, Al—”

“Th-They lied to me, Therion. The kids were a lot sicker than they said they’d be. I wasn’t....I wasn’t prepared I thought I’d brought everything I needed but...but they just needed an apothecary and didn’t think they could get one if they told the truth and...but I would've stayed anyway y’know? I would have...I did…so…” When Alfyn looks up again, he avoids Therion’s gaze. There’s tears pooling in his eyes and spilling down his face. “S-Some of them are gone, Therion. I couldn’t save them. I-It’s not like this is the first time this...this has happened but I...I don’t know I...th-they were all alone, and I…I couldn’t…”

“ _Alfyn,”_ he tries, unsure of where to put his hands. There’s something lodged in his throat making it hard to breathe. He decides, ultimately, that his hands belong on either side of his boyfriend’s face, wiping tears with his thumbs. “Alfyn, look at me, _please_.”

Alfyn grips Therion’s hands and looks down again. “I. I _c-can’t._ ”

Therion bites his lip; everything from before is gone. All thoughts of inadequacy, all thoughts of self-pity and hatred, even Darius. All of it is gone. The only thing that matters is sitting here right in front of him, broken and undone. “Alfyn. Alfyn _please_ , it’s okay. You’re okay. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re okay.” He pulls the apothecary’s face to his chest, fingers threading their way through that mop of blond hair. One of his hands comes to rest at the nape of Alfyn’s neck and puts pressure there.  

“You’re okay, Alfyn.”

Another sob wracks Alfyn’s body as he loops his arms around Therion’s middle. “I just...wanted to help.”

“I know.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I h-had to hold one of them as they d-died. I couldn’t s-save him. I couldn’t save him. I was his only h-hope and I couldn’t save him.”

“You did everything you could, Alfyn. You did everything you could.”

“I’m _s-sorry_.”

“You’re okay.”

Alfyn chokes out another flurry of “sorry’s” and buries his face deeper into Therion’s chest; there’s no sound in the room other than Alfyn’s sobs and Therion’s tense breathing. One of Therion’s hands drops to rub his boyfriend's back as he mumbles whatever sweet nothings he can think of. It’s what Alfyn always does for him, and as clumsy and awkward Therion can be with this type of thing, he has to _try._

“You’re always right there for people, Alfyn. When people need help, you come running. Hell, ninety percent of the time, you don’t even charge them for it. And when you do, it’s minimal. You bend over backwards to help anybody in need, anywhere, at any time, even if you aren’t sure you can.”

“Th-Therion, I—”

“You’re always trying, Alfyn. Even if you can’t save everyone, you still try. I can’t…I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, but I know you and I know how bad it’s eating you up. I know how much it’s gonna haunt you. I know that, above all else, you tried everything you could and then some, because you’re Alfyn Greengrass and that’s what you do: everything you can and more.”

There’s silence then. Alfyn stifles a sob and lets out a shaky breath; Therion plays with Alfyn’s hair. Everything feels....fuzzy, and Therion’s head spins. He’s never been good at this; for all the times Alfyn, or one of their friends have needed him, he always fell a bit short. He always finds himself lying in bed, hours later, coming up with things that would have been more meaningful. Things the other person would have needed to hear. Ways he could have been better.

“...I’m sorry this happened, Alfyn. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry I don’t have all the words.”

He doesn’t want to be that way anymore.

“You have a big heart. I’m always amazed by how much you have to give. By how much you _care._ ” He rests his chin on Alfyn’s head, still twirling strands of hair. “You really, genuinely, are amazing. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to grieve. You taught me that. You’ve taught me so much, Alfyn. Don’t let this be what stops you.”

Silence again, then the ruffle of fabric as Alfyn pulls away from Therion. He’s still got tears in his eyes, and his cheeks have imprints of Therion’s shirt in them. With a small laugh, he wipes his face with the back of his hand and shakes his head.

“I appreciate it…I do, Therion. M’sorry I came here and just...cried all over you like a big baby.”

Therion cuts him off. “You’re not a baby.”

Alfyn laughs again, short, sweet, and not without pain. “I dunno. I guess I just...wonder why I do this sometimes. I mean, I’ve asked myself this before, and _you’ve_ asked me.” He runs a hand through his bangs and sighs. “I just. It hurts, y’know? It really hurts. It’s happened before, no doubt, but it hurts losin’ a patient. It hurts seeing people suffer, knowing you tried all you could, but that you couldn’t save ‘em. I can’t help but feel like there’s this...hole in my chest, y’know what I mean? A hole in my chest, and it gets bigger every time I see someone I’m treating die.”

A few stray tears fall down Alfyn’s cheeks again; he wipes them with his hand and bites his lip. The light from the window swallows the apothecary in layers of gold, reflecting off his tears and shining on the wetness of his hands. This time, Therion’s sure it’s haunting.

“I mean, in the end, I’m still nothin’ but a clumsy, backwoods apothecary who doesn’t have a whole lot that’s special about him. I win some, I lose some, and when I lose, I come home crying and depressed no matter how many times I’ve gone through it.”

Therion takes his boyfriend’s words in slowly. What does he say? What can he say? Somebody needs him. _Alfyn_ needs him. He needs to be there and figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say to make it better, to make _him_ better. To right his shitty fucking wrongs—

_Why are you making this all about you?_

If Alfyn noticed some bizarre emotion flash in Therion’s eyes, he didn’t acknowledge it: “Hah, now I’m here talkin’ your ear off again, feelin’ all sorry for myself. Guess I’m still making beginner’s mistakes, with medicine and...with you. I came in here, noticed somethin’ was upsetting you, then went on about my own problems instead.” He bows his head and starts wringing his hands. “I need to be better for you. I need to be better in general.”

Something snaps in Therion. Whatever was clogging his throat drops to his stomach and everything else fades. His heart rattles in his chest as all rational thought is replaced with no no _no don’t you ever feel like this._ He grabs Alfyn’s face again, forcing his head upwards as he leans closer, centimeters away from Alfyn’s nose.

“Alfyn, listen to me.” Therion’s voice is hoarse—gravelly even—the telltale sign he’s close to tears. “Stop. Talking like that. About yourself. It’s not true. None of it is true. You don’t have to be better for me. You don’t have to be better for anyone. If there’s something you really wanna do for yourself, fine, but don’t think you have to fix yourself for other people. Don’t think you’re stupid, or accident prone, or bad at what you do. That’s _bullshit,_ Al. It’s not true.”

Alfyn stares back, wide-eyed, like Therion’s speaking a language he doesn’t understand. “Therion...I...I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Therion tips his body forward and presses their foreheads together. It’s something Alfyn does whenever they have a serious, heartfelt conversation, or whenever Therion wakes up bewildered from a nightmare. He starts to say something, then stops, watching with bated breath as a slow blush curls its way around Alfyn’s cheeks.

 _Gods._ If he fucks this up, he’ll never forgive himself.

“....I wasn’t lying when I said I’m amazed by you. You’re always trying to do the right thing. Always giving it a hundred and ten. And what’s more? You never give up. You never give up on anybody or anything, even if they deserve it. Even when I—” He stops and takes a breath; his mouth hangs open but nothing comes out. His fingers move before his brain catches up and he realizes he’s holding Alfyn’s hands. “Even me. You didn’t give up on me. You were there for me when I. When I couldn’t be there for myself. You saw _good_ in me when I couldn’t see it in myself. You were there, Alfyn, and you still are.”

The light in the room’s getting dimmer; faint traces of gold announce themselves in Alfyn’s eyes. The wind picks up outside and it brings with it the sweet trill of wind chimes.

Alfyn sucks in a breath, his eyes welling up with tears again.  “I...Gods, Therion. I don’t know what to say.”

‘Then don’t say anything.”

Alfyn nods, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them again, there’s this newfound, watery determination as he closes the gap between them with a kiss—and the world around them explodes in color.

Hands run up Therion's sides. Stubble tickles his cheeks and chin. Everything about the way Alfyn kisses him is perfect. Mind-blowingly, heart-stoppingly perfect.  
  
When Alfyn pulls away, there's a genuine smile on his face, and he laughs. “What did I do to deserve someone like you?”  
  
Theron blinks. He hadn’t been expecting that. Quite frankly, he doesn’t have much of an answer other than _you don’t_ and _you deserve better._ He decides, ultimately, to shelve those thoughts for now in favor of making sure his boyfriend gets a well-deserved nap.  
  
“Guess you're pretty lucky, medicine man.” He gives Alfyn's shirt collar a tug and pulls him down toward the pillows. “Now take a nap or something. You've been going all day.”  
  
The bed creaks as Alfyn leans into it, followed by a slight-but-noticeable yelp from Therion as he's dragged down into an embrace. Strong arms loop around Therion’s shoulders as Alfyn snuggles into him. This is common for them—Alfyn takes a nap, Therion ends up wrapped in his arms. Therion takes a nap, Alfyn accompanies him. It’s a nonverbal kind of “I’m here” that neither of them would dare take for granted.

Moments pass. The light in the room has almost entirely faded. Alfyn’s breath slows as he nuzzles further into Therion’s hair. Therion decides against fighting the heavy feeling of his eyelids and lets himself drift.

“You asleep?”

Therion furrows his brows. _Weren’t you?_  “Almost.”

Alfyn hums softly. “Do you mind if I ask you somethin’?”

“...If you want.” All things considered, he knows which direction this conversation's heading. To be fair, Alfyn walked in on him muttering to himself in some kind of sleep paralysis induced night terror, so any concerns at this point are understandable. He’s not exactly the most _public_ person when it comes to discussing fears and insecurities, but Alfyn is, after all, his boyfriend. He owes him somewhat of an explanation, especially after Alfyn poured his heart out to him not fifteen minutes prior. He doesn’t have to go in depth—going in depth would stress Alfyn out. Stressing Alfyn out more than he already is would definitely be the last item on Therion’s inability-to-properly-express-emotions itinerary.

“Okay, well, I guess what I wanna ask is…” With a bit of maneuvering, he sits up, and stares down at Therion with big, worried eyes. “Do you still think about him a lot? Darius, I mean?”

Therion blinks. Okay, he expected that to come up, but he didn’t expect Alfyn to be so forward about it. Now, he could pull one of his usual ‘ _Wow. That came out of nowhere!’_ deflectors, but in this situation, it’d do more harm than good (basically, he’d look like a huge fucking asshole). Instead, his mouth hangs open for a few seconds longer than necessary, then closes as his shoulders sag.

Alfyn purses his lips. “I, well. The thing is, Therion, when I walked in, I coulda swore I heard you mutter his name. I thought I might’ve imagined it, because I wasn’t too sure, but you were definitely shaken up by some kind of nightmare, and that coupled with the fact that I thought I heard his name....it just...worries me, y’know? I know it’s not easy to forget the people that hurt you, especially a person that was as big a part of your life as he was, but if you’re still struggling with thinkin’ about him a lot, you can always talk to me.” He pauses, then reaches down and grabs Therion’s hands. “I know I just cried my eyes out to you over my problems, but I wanna hear about what’s bothering you, too. I’m always here to help, even if all I can do is listen.”

The wind picks up outside again as Therion studies the way his hands fit into Alfyn’s. Therion’s hands are tan and small, while Alfyn’s are large and pale. They both have scars on their hands, each from separate battles. Therion has one under his right knuckles from a clash with a rival thief; Alfyn has one on his left palm from stopping a birdian’s claws with his hands. Even still, their hands fit together nicely.

“I...I know this is hard for you to talk about. I know this isn’t something you really like me asking, but...but there’s still times, Therion, where you get this faraway look in your eyes, or when you wake up hollering, and you tell me everything’s fine and that you’re doing better. And I believe that. I do. You _are_ doing better, but that doesn’t mean nothing’s ever gonna bother you. Better doesn’t have to mean happy all the time.”

Therion nods once, then sighs and squeezes Alfyn’s hands. Everything Alfyn’s saying makes sense, but there’s a part of him that wants to deny it. To stay.... _lonely,_ because the process is daunting and he doesn’t have what it takes. Because there’s that voice in the back of his head every time he thinks he doesn’t have to worry, telling him to worry, worry, worry. Telling him to question himself, to hate the way he looks even when Alfyn tells him he’s beautiful. Telling him he isn’t worth the scum at the bottom of people’s shoes.

He doesn’t want to feel that way anymore.

“...It’s just,” he breathes, “yeah. I do. I do still think of him. Not as much as I used to, but I do. And, fuck, he’s dead. He’s _been_ dead. They found his body half rotted away in that cellar, so I shouldn’t still be, what, afraid? I guess? Scared of him? It doesn’t even make _sense._ I still have nightmares. He still shows up. He still tells me that I’m. That I’m worth nothing. That I don’t deserve y—” he cuts himself off. “...And every time, I believe him.” He sucks in a breath. “I believe him.”

For a moment, Alfyn is quiet, and Therion wonders if he’s said too much. Then, Alfyn pulls a hand away from Therion’s grasp and lays it against Therion’s cheek.

When Alfyn speaks, his voice is soft: “Therion, just because somebody’s dead doesn’t mean what they did doesn’t hurt anymore.” His hand moves to Therion’s hair. “It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to be sad sometimes. It’s okay to have nightmares even when things seem like they’re going well.” He starts to rub the back of Therion’s neck. “He was wrong, by the way. Dead wrong. You’re not worthless. You could never be worthless.”

Therion interrupts him, voice straining, “but I have to move on. I have to just. Get over it. Just stop thinking about it already and move on with my life. All I do some days is sit here second guessing myself, and I hate it. _That_ makes me feel worthless, no matter what anybody says. I sit here, listening to his. Grating fucking voice and I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything. It’s. It’s.” He spits out the last word. “ _Pathetic_.”

Alfyn’s hand stops. Wordlessly, he places both palms on Therion’s shoulders and slides them up until they’re just below his ears. His grip is strong, but not painful, and there’s a new, intense gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t you ever call yourself pathetic. You are one of the most loving, kindest, bravest people I know. Nothing about you is pathetic.” With that, he pulls Therion into an embrace and cradles him in his arms. “You’re worth more to me than the whole world.”

Everything’s spinning. Therion’s eyes sting, worse and worse until the dam breaks and tears start spilling down his face. Is he crying? When was the last time he cried? When was the last time he cried in front of Alfyn?

“...I don’t understand.”

“Hear me out, then.” Alfyn starts, tightening the embrace, “I’ll tell you what I see.”

Therion clamps his lips together and nods.

“Think back to just a little while ago. I came in here, a huge, big ol’ mess, and you were there for me. You let me cry and cry, and hate on myself and ask why I do what I do. You did everything in your power and then some to make me feel better.” He stops and presses a light kiss to Therion’s temple. “And it’s not just me. You do that for everyone. When Ophilia was sad 'cause her sister abandoned her, you sat with her for hours while she cried. Whenever Prim needed somebody to talk to, _really_ talk to, about all the terrible things she went through, you listened. I know you did. She told me that. She told me how much that meant to her.”

Therion nods again. Memories of late nights, Primrose holding her head in her hands, Ophilia tugging at a specific strand of hair while she cried. He never had the right words, he never knew exactly what to say, but he knew not to leave. He knew what it was like to feel that way alone.

Moments pass, and Alfyn continues: “You listened to Tressa whenever a day of selling didn’t go so well. You listened to Cyrus whenever he had concerns over his findings. You listened to H’aanit worry about her master. You listened to Olberic express his grief over the fall of Hornburg. You didn’t always have a lot to say, but you _listened._ That’s what’s important. It shows you care.”

Therion breathes a shaky sigh. Listening…was the least he could do, right? For somebody like him, who could never find the right words.

“You’re a lot nicer than you think too, y’know. Don’t think I don’t know you donate a lot of the money you get from performances to charities. You like helpin’ kids, and you like seein’ people happy. That’s a whole lot of kindness if I ever saw it.” He presses another kiss to Therion’s temple. “And I mean it when I say this, Therion. But you’re a goddsdamned fool if you think you don’t deserve the good things that happen to you. Or that you don’t deserve me. I’ll say it once and I’ll say it a million more times: you deserve the world.”

He has no idea what to say. What can he say? What is there to say?

“You’re brave, too! I know you don’t like hearin’ it sometimes, but you’re definitely brave. So brave, it’s inspiring. You inspire people everyday.”

It takes considerable effort to speak without stuttering, but what Therion eventually gets out is a hoarse little “I’m not brave. I’m scared. Of a lot of things.”

Alfyn hums. “Bravery ain’t just about fighting monsters and lookin’ like a hero. It ain’t about being tough all the time and never wanting to cry. It ain’t even about never being scared. The bravery you have? It’s somethin even’ greater. It’s the fact that you stand up and fight _when_ you’re scared. The fact that you keep trying even when it hurts. That’s bravery in my book, Therion. That’s real bravery.”

Therion nods, and to his surprise, maybe even Alfyn’s, laughs. It’s dry, small, and sounds more like a miserable croak than actual laughter, but it’s laughter all the same. “....You do the same, Al.”

“Hmm, maybe! But we’re talkin’ about you here, darlin’, so enough about me!”

“...Ugh. _”_

“What? You don’t like it all of a sudden when I call you darlin’,? I could’ve sworn you did…”

“You are such a. You’re such a—”

“Sap? Yeah. I know. But I like bein’ a sap if the one I’m bein’ sappy for is you.”

Therion laughs again, then sniffles. “You’re a mess.”

Alfyn presses his lips to Therion’s forehead, and Therion can feel him smiling. “I think we’re both a little messy, to be honest.”

Therion can’t argue with that. He pulls away from Alfyn and rubs his face to get rid of any leftover tears. Gods, but this man has turned him soft.

“You look cute with your nose all scrunched up like that.”

Therion squints at him. “Yeah, because I’m definitely at my prettiest with red eyes and puffy cheeks.”

“Mmm. I think it’s when you smile, actually.”

“ _Ugh_.”

Being soft isn’t such a bad thing, though.

Alfyn, true to his cheerful self, giggles and ruffles Therion’s hair. “Now, how’s about we actually take a nap like you said. To be honest, I’m still run down from earlier, and you look like you could use some sleep.”

“That’s fair. We can make dinner later. I think we still have a few jars of Tressa’s Dad’s pasta sauce.”

“Oooh! That stuff’s so good! Definitely. We’ll have to use some of that.”

Therion smiles, and Alfyn leans in and kisses him on the cheek.

“I love you, y’know.”

The room’s gone dark; the sun has set and the warmth of the sky has faded. Interestingly enough, there’s still gold in Alfyn’s eyes—like it never left. Like it’s supposed to be there.

Funny, Therion thinks. It’s not so haunting after all.

“I love you, too.”

There’ll still be nightmares. There’ll still be trials, misery, and misfortune. There’s something, though, that Therion’s becoming increasingly certain of. When Alfyn pulls him in for another kiss, he becomes sure of it.

Even in total darkness, the both of them burn bright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me that people read through my fics! I love Alfyn and Therion a lot, and I love writing for them. This fic was both cathartic and very meaningful for me to write, and I can only hope you guys were able to find some meaning in it, too! And, again, happy birthday Tuna. You're the best, and I hope you were able to enjoy this!
> 
> Again, thank you all!!!!!


End file.
